Review- "When My Brother Was an Aztec"

     Natalie Diaz is a living poet that is relatively new to the literary scene, having published her first collection, When My Brother Was an Aztec, with Grand Canyon Press in 2012. This collection draws on her experiences as a Native American woman raised on a reservation, as well as the plight of her people as its own individual entity. It is this complicated struggle between memoir and meditation that can be seen throughout the novel, working together to establish a work that is both aesthetically enthralling and emotionally challenging.

     The work opens with the title piece, When My Brother Was an Aztec. This is an abstract piece that is challenging to grasp without the context that is delivered to the reader later in the work. However, it does provide a background that is marred in both love and destruction. It depicts this brother as an Aztec similar to that of cultural legend, ritually sacrificing his somewhat willing family with all-encompassing, destructive behavior:

         "My brother shattered and quartered them before his basement festivals-
               waved their shaking hearts in his fists,
   
     while flea-ridden dogs ran up and down the steps, licking their asses,
          turning tricks. Neighbors were amazed my parents' hearts kept
               growing back- It said a lot about my parents, or parents' hearts."

     This opening piece functions as both introduction and conclusion, begging to be revisited at the conclusion of the collection.

     After the introduction, the work is divided into three parts. Each section is complicated and incredibly diverse. The first paints an upbringing that is both individual and collective, delivering anecdotes of life on a reservation, through either the lens of the self; like the gut wrenching pieces Why I Hate Raisins and Hand-Me-Down Halloween, or through anecdotal portrayals of others as in Reservation Mary. These pieces provide powerful hits of realism, but they are merely stones resting in a massive web of contemplation and realization that is the first section. These include the entirely abstract; as in a reflection of what it means to be a Native American woman in society in The Last Mojave Indian Barbie, as well as think-piece contemplations about topics like the origins of oppression and religion, as seen in If Eve Side-Stealer & Mary Busted-Chest Ruled the World, and one of my personal favorites; Prayers or Oubliettes. 

     The second section harks back to the opening piece, revolving around a brother's destructive addition to meth. Addiction is represented poetically, and addressed literally, and leaves the reader with pangs of the heart that only time can heal. It is here that the figurative language comes to life, a life that manages to find beauty in tragedy. Take for example this selection, from the stark and devastating piece How to Go to Dinner with a Brother on Drugs:

"He spent his nights in your bathroom
with a turquoise BernzOmatic handheld propane torch,
a Merlin mixing magic, then shape-shifting into lions,
and tigers, and bears, Oh fuck, pacing your balcony
like Borges's blue tiger, fighting the cavalry in the moon,
conquering night with his blue flame, and plotting to steal
your truck keys, hidden under your pillow.
Finally, you found the nerve to ask him to leave,
so he took his propane torch and left you
with his meth pipe ringing in the dryer."

     The parallel between the destruction of addiction and the destruction of Native American disenfranchisement slowly becomes evident, amplified by the memory of the opening piece of the collection.

     The third section is full of sharp contrast and tension, an exercise of Diaz's ability to hold two powerful concepts within one stroke of a pen. There is the sensual elation and dulling pain of a life of love and desire, a completion of the continued exposition of nostalgia and tragedy, and an occasional escalation of the political ebbs and flows of the work. Diaz ventures to ponder on political commentary such as terrorism in the piece Orange Alert. This section is a fitting ending to such a complicated work.

     When My Brother Was an Aztec is a work that finds strength in its duality. Natalie Diaz delivers cutting social and political commentary while painting an individual and collective life that is shaded with a symbolic, rustic haze that refuses to leave the mind of the reader. A haze that contains both pride and pain, beauty and tragedy without apologizing. She twists through poetic form and unfettered freedom, produces metaphors both mind-boggling and stoically simple, and imposes a profound impact on the consumer without necessarily giving a shit about an audience, adamantly remaining authentic with every mark. It is a valuable piece for anyone interested in literature.